John Smith and the Philosopher's Watch
by Muffliato
Summary: The sequel to 'A Scandal in Baker Street' is no longer being updated here. It's instead being posted as Book 2 in 'ASiBS'. I'm sorry for any confusion!
1. A Study In TARDIS Blue

**Summary:** John is twice-time displaced, Sherlock is furious, the Statue of Secrecy is shattering, the Doctor is miffed, the Potters blink too much, Harkness and Adler are soul mates, Mycroft is confused, Jo is plotting…and the horcrux and locked fob watch are out of hiding. This world might burn, but is still so much darker, madder, and better than you could imagine. —The PotterWhoLock sequel to 'A Scandal in Baker Street'.

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**Author's Note:** My dear Cumberbabes (Cumbercookies?), Whovians (NuWho or otherwise), and Potterheads (Merlin, we've got to get a better name), this is the mostly harmless sequel to 'A Scandal In Baker Street'! If you're new to the party I highly suggest you read these fanfics in order. But if you're a stubborn Gryffindor or a genius who refuses to ask for directions (Time Lord or otherwise), here's a rundown of what's happened in our story so far:

The Potters moved into 221c Baker Street, making the 'not-actually-a-zombie-Sherlock' perplexed. Mycroft found and researched magic while dealing with a reporter and groaning at everyone's stupidity. The Aurors and the Yard were confuzzled by a case. Harry obliviated Sherlock while Ginny laughed and Jamie made dragons. Anderson wasn't actually a moron or Moran, but he also wasn't dead, and Moriarty made London go BOOM! Harry and Sherlock, the most wanted men in Britain, struggled to save their loved ones. Sherlock snogged John (who actually _was _like that, thank you very much). But Moriarty was after a larger goal which involved going back in time and 'stealing' the wizarding hero's memories and life. Time went willy-nilly when Anthea was like, "I'm a BAMF!" and took the memories before Moriarty and herself fell through the Veil.

But Anthea wasn't dead or a zombie/inferi, just temporally displaced. So she reappeared fifteen years older, took off her 'notice-me-not' charm, and introduced herself as J.K. Rowling. To which Harry was like, "WTF!?" before deciding Wizarding Britain was highly overrated. Then John wrote a blog about it.

Which is where this comes in. For a certain Time Lord was quite miffed that he missed all the fun. Amy was sympathetic (really, she was), the twice time-displaced John was more potentially-homicidal than understanding, and Rory easily deducted that he was the only sane one left.

The Potters and Holmes are also doing things and freaking out, but that comes later.

**General Disclaimer:** HUGE chunks of this chapter were directly based off of Doctor Who and Donna's timely entrance—so nope, not mine in the least. As for the story overall? Mix Sir Arthur Conan Doyle with a pinch of J.K. Rowling, spice in some Steven Moffat and Benedict Cumberbatch, and stir in an original plot as it boils, making sure not to sue the writer. When the dish is al dente, plop on some TARDIS blue and add a side of jammy dodgers for kicks. _Molte bene!_ Or in other words?

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_"Something Old, Something New, Something Borrowed…Something Blue."_ 'Doctor Who'.

* * *

"That isn't a screwdriver."

The Doctor poked his head out from under the TARDIS' console to gaze curiously at his companion. "Course it is."

"No, it's not!" Amy Pond said indignantly, crossing her arms with an increasing edge of stubbornness. Rory Pond (Williams, thank you very much) sat a bit away reading a detective novel, wisely pretending the rising insanity was a few galaxies away. "Screwdrivers are for fixing things."

"This fixes plenty of things. Even better, it's _sonic_." The Eleventh Doctor nodded his head as though this statement ended the discussion.

"That doesn't make any sense!" She cried out. Swinging her arms into the air she knocked out one of the orange doohickeys, causing smoke to thickly unfurl from a suddenly exposed pipe. While Rory jerked in surprise and the Doctor mumbled some technical jargon, Amy jammed the metal back in place. Without missing a beat she went back to the conversation, wafting away the lingering smoke. "What does 'sonic' even mean?"

"For your information," the alien, checking on the pipe, gestured in a vague wave as an ill-attempted emphasis, "the sonic bit refers to its remote hijacking and conjunction of sound-waves to exponentially multiply the kinetic forces that one object gives off to a…no…ther…" he drifted off in realising he'd lost her, "…it's a screwdriver that goes _bzz_ when I need it to do stuff. Yes, exactly!"

"That doesn't explain anything." Amy replied after a moment. Meanwhile—once satisfied that his wife hadn't blown up the ship—Rory turned back to the text with an 'universe-and-outer-soapbubbles-weary' sigh. "Since, oh yeah, your screwdriver doesn't actually screw in stuff! Besides, who looks at a screwdriver and thinks, 'Ooh, this could be a little more sonic'?"

"You don't even understand what that means!"

"I know enough. Why put so much science-y stuff in a little stick?"

"It's more like a 'wand', actually. Or a rod. A _stick_ is, is…"

"…is _that_." Amy pointed at the screwdriver.

"Uh, guys?" Rory was looking up from his book and eyeing the entranceway uncertainly. The other two didn't hear.

"It's a screwdriver, not a stick! But what, you've never been bored? Never had a long night? Never had a lot of cabinets to put up?"

Rory cautiously straightened up from his seat. "Something strange is happening…that is, stranger than normal…definitely abnormal…"

"It doesn't put up cabinets!" Amy cried back, glaring at the Doctor for disagreeing. "_It doesn't even work on wood!_"

"_It does everything else!_" The Doctor rebutted. "Locks up stuff, unlocks stuff, breaks into MI5, makes a fantastic centrepiece, has a quirky not-so-little noise that goes BOOM! when its signals are crossed with another sonic which, err, I'd never do, course not…"

"DOCTOR!" Rory's shout pierced through the argument. As both gazes shifted to him, he drily pointed towards the TARDIS' doors. "I'm assuming _that_ isn't supposed to happen?"

The unexpected sight was not accompanied by a _bzz_, BOOM, or even a _whirzzwhirzz_. Instead, it was a silent sloping of light and shapes that at first appeared to be a crack in time gone hypernova. But as the Doctor and companions watched in shock, the 'crack' broke into fractured pieces that slowly restructured itself—with the sound of breaking glass—into the form of a vaguely human shape. With a last SNAP! and BANG! the light inverted before rupturing outward, causing the watchers to blink and turn away from the bright blaze.

When they could at last look at the entrance, what met their eyes was a man in a tuxedo. Said humanoid figure returned the gawk before stumbling backwards.

"What?" The Doctor gaped.

The new man, catching his balance, surveyed the room before snapping his attention to the three. "_Who are you?_"

"But…" Rory dimly waved his book at the impossible man, silently proclaiming 'This is impossible? Because of—other dimensions, and Doctor can someone just appear in deep space without even knocking?!' Amy shrugged in response to the unspoken questions. The Doctor was too busy grasping at the disintegration of physics to do anything**.**

The man, meanwhile, was getting more and more irritated. "_Where am I?!_"

"What?" The Doctor said in a most assuredly not-high pitch.

"The hell is this place!" The man stormed, glaring at all of them.

"_What?_" The Doctor flailed, voice slowly coming back to him. "You can't do that. I wasn't. We're in flight. That's physically impossible…err, without Huon particles, that is. _But this can't be happening again! _How did—"

"Tell me where I am." The man said slowly, the dangerous tone to his words not matching his rather harmless appearance. "I demand you tell me right now! Where am I?"

The Doctor sighed, flinging his hands up, giving into whatever new insanity had quite literally materialised. "Inside the TARDIS."

The man blinked. Confusion took victory over anger. "The what?"

"The TARDIS." Rory helpfully repeated before turning to the alien with a narrowed frown. "Doctor…"

"_The what?!_" The man said with more alarm, stumbling back while his gaze rapidly flickered around the console room.

"The TARDIS!" Amy shouted, tired of males and their stupidity (even when highly justifiable). "DOCTOR—"

"The TARDIS, the _DOCTOR?!_ No, _NO_." The man rubbed his eyes. "This can't be happening again. Not bloody now."

"It's called the TARDIS." Rory said superfluously, uncertain about all of this.

"Don't give me that." The man swatted this away with an irritated scowl. "You're just another one copying BBC and—Christ! Today of all days!"

The Doctor frowned at the non-sequitur but focussed on the important thing. "How did you get here?"

"Well, obviously, when you kidnapped me." The man growled. "As if I haven't had enough of that lately. Who was it? Who's paying you? Is it Harry? Lord, she's finally got me back. This has Harry written all over it. Wait, it's not _Harry_ Harry, right? Did Ginny put him up to the prank?"

"Who's Harry? Ginny?" Amy said, coming out of her stunned state. "Why is this Harry person changing genders?"

"Two Harries, both irritating," the man replied with more than a grudge of anger, "which you possibly bloody well know! Oh wait…tell me _Mycroft_ didn't do this. Surely he's not that insane?"

"Hold on, wait a minute." Rory held up his hand (with book attached) to sway the influx of random information. "What are you dressed like that for?"

"I'm going ten pin bowling." The man deadpanned before letting out a frustrated sigh. "Why do you think? I was halfway down the aisle! I was seconds away and then you, I don't know, you drugged me or something! _Because this can't be happening now!_"

"I haven't done anything!" The Doctor protested. "Rassilon, I hate deja vu."

"Or you've confunded me or, or, I don't know!" The man's indignant anger sparked back in. "I'm having the police on you. Half the Yard and a number of the aurors are good friends, so don't think you'll get away with this—this cheap knock-off of a telly set!" He began running down the ramp to the doors.

"No, wait a minute! _Aurors? Telly set?_ Doesn't matter…wait Wait WAIT!" The Doctor, coming out of his stupefaction, raced after him. "_Wait, DON'T!_"

But before he could be stopped, the man opened the door. He looked out at a gaseous nebula, one that bloomed as far as the eye could see.

The Doctor slowed before resting next to him, taking in his gaping expression with understanding. "You're in space. Outer space." The Time Lord said reassuringly, though his mind continued buzzing with the new mystery."This is my space ship. It's called the TARDIS."

"How am I breathing?" The man held out a hand and flicked the calm air.

"The TARDIS is protecting us."

The tuxedoed man slowly turned to the alien, features unreadable. "Who are you? Don't you dare say 'Doctor' or any such nonsense."

The Doctor blinked. "I'm, ah, _the_ Doctor. Not at all arrogant, course not. You?"

"Bloody hell." The man groaned, running a hand back through his hair. "If I'm going through this again, I need tea. Plenty of it." At the Doctor's pointed look he gave another, collapsing sigh. "John."

The Doctor beamed, understanding little of this mad situation but assuming it could be great fun. "Splendid name. Human?"

"Yeah. Is that optional?" John asked dishearteningly, as though he already knew the answer. "So you're an alien."

"Yeah." The Doctor gestured to the cautiously approaching two. "But they're as wonderfully human as they come. John, Amy and Rory Pond."

"Williams." Rory automatically corrected. He stared at the newcomer in suspicion. "John what?"

"Watson." John turned back to the stars before, with a shiver, slowly closed the doors. In doing so he missed the other three give each other significant looks of 'Did you hear that? No, it can't be what we're thinking. No way are we that lucky'. "Tell me you aren't a Time Lord with a Messiah complex?"

Amy stifled a gape, Rory stared between John and his book in confusion, the Doctor's mouth dropped, and the TARDIS _whizzed_ in amusement. But suddenly a grin split the alien's face. "Nope, 'fraid I can't! But please say that you're a friend of Sherlock Holmes and write about his cases in Victorian London? Because that would be utterly fantastic, brilliant, and filled with Geronimo!"

John blinked. "Ah—what? First off, define 'friend'. Second off, _Victorian_ London? Try 2007, mate. Aside from those? Yes, I write the blogs. Have you—are you telling me that _you_ read them? Christ." He swayed slightly as the mad situation hit him, before regaining his balance with a deeply steadying breath. "I'm almost hoping this is a drug-induced hallucination. Wish I could say it's the first time."

Rory frowned down at the cover. "Conan Doyle…?" he muttered, flipping through 'A Scandal In Bohemia' without reading it. In contrast, the Doctor was beyond thrilled.

"Really?" In seconds flat the sonic screwdriver was out and beeping at John, who shifted back uncertainly. "That's, that's _BRILLIANT!_ Not actually though, because having a twice-time-displaced John Watson is sure to have everything go wibbly-wobbly, but _yes!_ I'm such a fan." The Doctor's huge beam was threatening to fall off his face, even while Amy commented that, 'See? That stick never screws in anything!' "So you were transported here before your wedding to Mary?"

The comment snapped John back to the present. His hurry rapidly returned with the reminder. "No, to Sherlock actually. You know what? I don't care what's happening, I really don't. So what if your blue box has an expandable charm on it? I've seen better and I seriously need to get to the church!"

But the three were now watching him with dropped jaws and making no attempt to move.

"_Sherlock?_ But, but you—" Rory weakly gestured at his book, "—him, Adler—"

The Doctor peered at the sonic screwdriver's results in confusion. "How's that possible? Oh, Arty's not going to be pleased…"

A slow grin spread on Amy's face. Out of nowhere she pounded the air with a wild shout. "YES! BROMANCE! That's too perfect! SO ADORABLE!"

"Sure…" John edged away from the crazy people and towards the console, "…look, no offence, but getting lost in time and space is the last thing I need. If you could just get me back to London, May 2007—" but he was abruptly stopped by the sonic screwdriver once again being 'bzzed' in his face.

"I don't understand this and I understand everything." The Doctor muttered, not noticing John's displeasure. "This can't happen! There is no way a human being can lock himself onto the TARDIS and transport himself inside. Err, again. While displacing however many fictional and otherwise timelines! Some sort of subatomic connection? Something in the temporal field? Maybe something pulling you into alignment with the Chronon shell. Maybe something macro mining your DNA within the interior matrix. Maybe a genetic—OW!" For John had angrily slapped the Doctor. The latter shouted indignantly, holding his cheek. "What was that for!?"

"Get me to the church!" John hollered back.

"Right! Fine!" The Time Lord exclaimed, remembering what was going on. "I ought to figure out the larger crack in time and space anyway. Where is this wedding? Any cake to jump out of?"

"Saint Mary's, Hayden Road, London, England, Earth, the Solar System." John said quickly, ignoring the last question and sending a quick glare at the Doctor for good measure. "_So help me if you get us there late!_"

"Bromance…" Amy sighed while Rory, flicking his hand over her eyes, failed to bring her back to reality.

The Doctor rushed to the Console but, just as he was setting her in motion, paused. A strange expression crossed his face. "Expandable charm. Confunded. Aurors. Harry and Ginny…say, John? Hypothetically speaking, have you noticed anything strange or…ah…'magical' lately? Just a thought, mind you—"

Which was when the TARDIS was rocked by an explosion as all the controls went dead.

* * *

**A/N:** Amy would totally be a fangirl. The Doctor would be even worst. No, don't try and tell me otherwise. Plus, this is what happens _before_ Harry Freaking Potter is added in! Those who've read 'A Scandal In Baker Street' know how that particular introduction goes…

Enormous thank yous to the brilliant Bludger1 and my fantastic beta, Spellmugwump97!


	2. The Boy Who Ran

**A/N:** QUESTION! LOOK HERE! This is PotterWhoLock, but I'm not sure about the labelling as only crossovers consisting of two fandoms are allowed. If anyone knows what the correct formatting is, pleasepleaseplease let me know. Thanks!

But oh. My. Merlin! THE 50TH WAS AMAZING AND FITS IN PERFECTLY WITH THIS FIC ANDANDAND *hyperventilates while clutching sonic screwdriver in a death grip* THE DOCTOR'S NO LONGER A TRAGIC HERO, "I DON'T WANT TO GO", SO MANY TIMEY-WIMEY PROBLEMS BUT WHATEVER BECAUSE, OMG, I CAN'T EVEN! I CAN'T, I REALLY CAN'T!

As for the Sherlock previews? I'm betting _anything_ that Anderson was part of the fan club to collect intel and hide his true-Moriartiness. No, I'm not in denial! You'll see, YOU'LL ALL SEE!

Also, a huge thank you to my wonderful beta Spellmugwump97!

**General Disclaimer:** If I was J.K. Rowling, I'd have made multiple chapters nightmare sequences. Forget about Divination or insights onto Harry's character: this is pure guilty pleasure. No rationality here whatsoever.

* * *

_12:05 am, 30 June, 2007_

_Saint-Germain-des-Prés, Paris_

This particular townhouse was not lacking in magical or muggle objects. Perhaps it was that, in moving, the Potters had decided to embrace everything they loved. Or maybe, with three active kids, they'd given up the appearance of normality in any world. Whatever it was, this place—unlike the inherited Grimmauld Place or the rented Baker Street room—was wonderfully, impeccably their own.

Still, the agent who'd showed it to them two years ago would've fainted at how it'd transformed. For while the home was tasteful when seen from outside, gone was the stuffily prim interior. What replaced it could only be described as a mixture of the Burrow and the Lovegood's old rook-shaped house. In other words: the exact opposite of #4 Privet Drive.

With a few spells for privacy, the Potters fell in love with the light that streamed through the myriad windows into every room and hall. From the yellow kitchen to the nursery's fluttering clouds, brightness was indeed an ongoing theme. They knew nothing about design, but knew what they wanted and were less than concerned by little things like price or 'fashion'. As long as they and the kids were happy, nothing else mattered.

The living room was a particular favourite, messy chaos and all. It was normally widely lit by a wall of windows, but in this midnight hour the lone reader was perfectly content with the buzzing ball of light illuminating a small circle around him. In this still hour, the atmosphere was one with sleepiness, particular as most of the myriad objects scattered about were only just rustling out of slumber.

But a few of these items were—like Harry—still up at this lonely hour. A snitch with a broken wing flew around a miniature (yet roaring) Hungarian Horntail by the door. Tiny pygmy puffs poked out of a cardboard box on the table. A paper motorcycle zoomed around the telly, knocking over a stack of 'Doctor Who' dvds (for a little magical rule was nothing compared to Holmes' and Rowling's ingenuity, while a possible puzzle would not be overlooked by any Potter).

There was also a distinct rustling from the bookshelves. Close to the floor were colourful texts with everything from fluttering butterflies, prowling griffins, to seven thick stories about a boy who lived. On the upper shelves—well above the kids' reaches—lay magical textbooks, travel/language guides, advanced DADA researches, detective novels, Quidditch strategy guides, and overall, a miscellaneous collection on interesting bits and pieces of muggle and wizarding societies alike.

It was one of the adult books that Harry was currently reading, though that statement could be debated on two levels. First off, many would protest fairy tales being deemed anything but children's tales (rampant homicides and violence gleefully ignored). Secondly, he wasn't so much 'reading it' as softly cursing that the words hadn't magically changed since last time, and that any epiphany continued to elude him. Actually, he hadn't had to truly read these stories in months, having had them memorised for some time.

Entrenched in frustrated unease, Harry didn't look up as Ginny walked up behind him. Nor did he speak when she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, perching on the armchair's edge with a yawn. She remained silent for a moment, taking in the calmness gratefully—like a woman who knew how rare these times could be.

"It's so late it's early." Ginny murmured, breath tickling his ear. "Come to bed."

"I'm reading."

"You're brooding." She retorted without pause, glaring at the book as though it was to blame. Which, in fact, it was. "Obsessing, which isn't exactly healthy."

Harry glanced up from the text before doing a double-take. "…at least I'm not trying to scar the kids."

Ginny readjusted her balance, not caring that she was only clad in a flimsy robe. "They're fast asleep, it's our house and I'm their mum. I'd have the right to walk around naked if I wanted to."

"Huh." He sent her a look, a small grin growing. "Can't really protest that."

"Like you would." She leaned towards the open book. "What are you overanalysing tonight?" Her smile faded at the sight of a familiar messy scrawl racing across the margins, with very little white space remaining. She tightened her hug. "Love, I don't think there's that much more to be said about a hopping pot."

Harry closed _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_. Previous arguments on this subject clung to the air around them. "We don't know what this was about, except that it's dangerous. I've got to know what this thing is hiding! I know you don't like me doing this, but with Moriarty—"

"I don't want to lecture you. I just…" Ginny hesitated, "…worry. I do. I hate seeing you pull yourself apart over this. But yes! Yes," she continued as he opened his mouth to again protest, "I know there are still unanswered questions, and _I know_ that you're following up every possible lead. Merlin, I even helped go through all those episodes! Don't know what a robot with a whisk has to do with anything, but—"

"Then what's the problem?" Harry interrupted with a hint of stiffness.

Ginny chewed the words over while sliding to his lap, causing the book to slip to the floor. She gazed at him, letting her arms fall. "You've taken notes on every word of those stories. Looking into a lead is one thing, but this?" Her eyes closed, thoughts heavy. "It's been two years. If something happens we'll meet it when it comes. But love, chasing after ghosts will only drive you mad."

"Yeah. Yeah, I know." He relented, acknowledging the truth of this.

Silence fell.

Her forehead kneaded, as though contemplating her next phrase.

"They're only theories." Harry said instead, tiredness laying on his words. "None of the cyphers were decoded and the book was sent for a reason. Bait, a clue, I dunno. I know the book should be at the Ministry, but—" he was cut off by a soft finger against his lips.

"If you think it's best, I trust your instincts." Ginny gazed at him beseechingly. "But please don't spend your life worrying, dreaming of things that might do wrong. We've gotten what we always desired…might as well enjoy it."

Another weighty pause descended. Though this one cushioned them gently, like a comfortable sleep that wouldn't quite come. They leaned against each other, taking respite in the still morning air. The book lay on the ground, momentarily forgotten.

"We'll make it through tomorrow. Today, I guess. Through all of this." Ginny murmured. She threaded her fingers through his knotted hair. "It's kind of what we do."

* * *

_4:00 pm, 30 June, 2007_

_London, England_

It wasn't often that Gregory Lestrade found himself chasing a priest through the streets of London. That wasn't to say he had never done it, but the occurrence was rare enough. As was racing flat-out into a back alley…fast enough to just see the culprit disapparate away with his religious black robe swirling about him.

Lestrade—cursing magic, serial killers, and not having minions to do the grunt work—trudged back to the church. Wiping sweat away, he ignored the looks he got and stooped to grab the tie from where he'd tossed it earlier. Straightening his formal coat, he frowned when contemplating the last ten minutes. What the hell had happened?

Unfortunately, getting back to the church gained no further answers. For there was only Sherlock (his own fancy attire similarly ruffled with hair practically standing on end) kneeling by the pew, glaring intently at something. The younger man snapped his head up at the former DI's reentrance.

"Disapparated." Lestrade said before the question could come. The word came out like a grimace. "Inspecting the dust?"

"Hilarious." Sherlock sneered before returning to his task. "The 'dust' is unlike anything that could exist. When—"

"Any sign of John?" Lestrade cut in, though sympathetically. "I'm guessing our guy's to blame?"

"_Yaxley?_" Sherlock spat out, swinging his head towards the unflinching man. "Oh yes, the two-bit serial killer who is all-but a squib made John vanish _in a burst of golden light!_ Brilliant Lestrade, just _brilliant_."

Lestrade stared back at his heavily breathing friend, not backing down. "The man had a…flair for the dramatic. A 'priest' who enjoys murdering couples during their wedding? Oh yeah, I wonder why I thought he could be behind this!"

"Yaxley was the most surprised and instantly fled." Sherlock at last turned away, looking at the pew with a frown. "He even lacked the presence of mind to disapparate. Then there was the timing; too early for him to strike since we hadn't even begun the 'I dos'. Which was the _entire blasted point!_"

"At least it wasn't a real ceremony." Lestrade put in for something resembling humour. But he then froze at Sherlock's lack of response. "Hold on, he wasn't really an ordained priest, right? This _was_ all a set-up?"

Sherlock snorted. "Of course Yaxley is ordained, how would I have found him otherwise? Don't be so dim-witted. It's boring." He dismissed and, ignoring Lestrade's stupefied expression, moved onto more important matters. "The wedding, to Yaxley, ought to have been like all the rest. John and I wouldn't have survived the ceremony, and you as our sole guest would have had your memory erased."

"It was a real wedding." Lestrade mumbled, leaning against a row of seats in shock. Sherlock let out an irritated sigh and turned back to the far more interesting dust. "_Your_ wedding. You, you actually wanted me to be best man at your wedding."

"_So boring!_" Sherlock frustratedly groaned. Lestrade, from long and strenuous practice, ignored this.

"Wait," the ex-DI's eyes widened even further. He let out the next in a squawk, "I'm bloody well blind! It's why you wanted to wait before ambushing Yaxley!"

Sherlock sent him an annoyed look. "No, I wanted to have the perfect distraction. The priest wouldn't have expected a 'joyfully snogging' couple to draw weapons."

But Lestrade wasn't listening to any excuses. Instead, he stared at the pew as though he'd never seen it before. "_…oh god. Oh god! You made me best man. I was your best man! Sherlock, your fiancé's missing!_"

Sherlock's scowl reached epic proportions. If Lestrade had been anyone else he would've already been shot by the gun hiding in the younger man's coat. "Please do continue to point our the blaringly obvious. We are not at all short on time!"

Lestrade paused. "What about your brother?"

"SHUT UP!" Sherlock's patience finally broke into bits and pieces as he outright glared. "YES, YOU WERE OUR BEST MAN! Do I _actually_ need to explain why using Mycroft would have ended with the church exploding? STOP TALKING!"

"I meant to call him." Lestrade bit back anyway, unimpressed by the outburst. "Mycroft can tell the aurors that Yaxley's on the run, and he might know what caused John to vanish."

Sherlock scowled and turned back to reexamine the mysterious dust. "_No._"

"'No'?" Lestrade likewise blinked. "You're kidding me." A moment of silence. "Are you—you're serious?"

"Very."

"_Why!_"

"Because I would not be surprised if he and that cohort of his were to blame for John. No, actually, if they are then…" Sherlock trailed off before snatching out his mobile, dialling furiously. Lestrade watched in disbelief as the other tugged off his tie and flung it to the ground.

"MYCROFT!" Sherlock roared as the call picked up. "What _the hell_ do you think you're…oh, you're waiting for a text from that infernal woman? I don't care! So help me if you or she know _anything_ about John disappearing! No, don't you give me that. CCTV, of course. The focus was on capturing a criminal, not on getting married!" He spoke out briskly, eyes narrowing. "Of course mummy doesn't know, don't be ridiculous."

Lestrade's eyes widened at the last. "You didn't tell any of your relatives? Christ, you're a braver and stupider man than me."

"It doesn't matter as I'm not married." Sherlock heatedly continued to Mycroft, ignoring the comment. "John vanished walking down the aisle and Yaxley ran. So inform _her_ or the aurors, whatever on earth you feel like but—_what? No, don't hang up! I don't care_ if she texted you! What? Who the bloody hell cares what's happening at Hog—" he cut off abruptly, pulling the phone from his ear. His expression was disbelieving.

"The church doesn't have security cameras." Lestrade awkwardly changed the subject, eyeing the mobile warily as though it was about to be chucked at something (or someone). "This is too strange for the Yard to touch, but…well, you know how I feel about that. This was my mess anyway, but even if it wasn't I'd still do whatever I could to get John back—"

"Magic." Sherlock interrupted, staring into space. His expression didn't lose any of its severity.

"Magic?" Lestrade rubbed at his eyes. "Yeah, that's the problem. Neither of us have any clue about it! Don't try to deny it." He paused. "Think their Ministry won't mess with our memories if we call?"

"Not the Ministry." Sherlock replied with steely determination. Not bothering with Lestrade's confusion he took his tie from the ground, ripped the expensive stitches apart, and swept some of the peculiar dust onto the fabric. Folding it he put the small package and the mobile in his pocket. "Downing Street. We need that aggravating woman."

"Irene Adler? Alright, now I know you're—oh. _Oh._ Wait, _OI!_" He shouted, running after Sherlock out of the room and church. "You're talking about Rowling? So we _are_ going to your brother?"

"Hmm." Sherlock answered tightly. Without waiting for breaths to be caught, he immediately hailed a cab.

* * *

_?:?, ?/?/?_

_TARDIS_

The TARDIS was still dead.

Rory found that he was the only one who cared about this rather crucial problem. Sure, the Doctor had spouted off some gibberish about overheating and "It's supposed to do that", but his attention had clearly been elsewhere. For a Time Lord with an epiphany was one of the most dangerous things in the universe, and a determined Amy didn't even bare thinking about. When you combined both?

He suppressed a shudder at this thought. Glancing back at the shouting people, he watched in vague horror as Amy and the Doctor completely lost their minds. John Watson was trapped between them, resembling one facing a horde of Weeping Angels (struggling not to blink and knowing only disaster lay ahead).

Rory the Roman backed away, looking around for the exits. Any exit at all, really: library, swimming pool, a drop into a supernova. While speculating on this, he could've sworn that the TARDIS _sniggered_ at him. He sent a quick glare at the console for good measure, stuck his tongue out, realised what he was doing and, with a flush, returned to looking for an escape.

"_SORCERER'S OR PHILOSOPHER"S?_" The Doctor (having all-but become a five year old) was sitting criss-crossed while managing to gleefully jump up and down. "Such a huge difference! Jo was flippity-floppity and, oh no! WAIT! _IS NAGINI THE BOA CONSTRICTOR HARRY POTTER RELEASED WHEN HE WAS ELEVEN?_"

"…I…ah…_what?_" Another of John's attempt to flee was cut short when Amy grabbed him, wrestling them both back to the ground. Rory considered intervening, before catching the ravenous look in her eyes. Thus reassessing, he thought better of putting himself in the line of fire. He backed up a few more steps.

"Those are stupid questions! Sorcerers are American and Nagini was from Algeria, not Brazil." Amy then ignored the protesting Doctor to smile at John (in what was meant to be a reassuring way, but rather resembled a sabre-toothed tiger's predatory grin). "_Whose fault was 'Albus Severus'?_ I know everyone's like, 'Name-hogging!' but Ginny named a pygmy puff Arnold and an owl Pigwidgeon! Don't get me started on Scorpius Hyperion. Those two will be best mates through mutual detestations of their names alone." She huffed, taking personal offence to this outrage.

"…err…I don't really….what about the TAR…"

"Those are perfectly good names! But that doesn't matter. _Did Margaret really toss Fudge out the window?_ Why does no one tell me anything!"

"Because you're oblivious. Also mental if you don't think those names are scar-inducing. John, _have you seen the Ministry of Magic?!_"

"Ooo, scar! _Is the scar really like lightning? Has it faded?_"

"Never mind the scar! _How do you create a horcrux?!_"

"_Is there a_—wait. Horcrux?" The Doctor paused mid-sentence to give Amy a baffled look. "Are you asking what I know you're asking?"

"Could come in useful." She shrugged, unrepentant.

"You are such River's mum…" a light of disbelieving realisation swept the Doctor's face, "…who's also been lying to me! She knew about magic and that I didn't know and that she didn't tell me and that Jo was being vague on purpose and that _someone lied to me on Privet Drive_, AND ALL OF THIS WAS ONE ENORMOUS SPOILER!" He stared into open air, mouth agape. "That woman's infuriating."

"OI!" Rory at last exclaimed.

"Infuriatingly perfect! And I meant Jo! Yes, absolutely." The Doctor rapidly backtracked, recognising the Roman who was rather too talented with a sword and who happened to be a certain archaeologist's loving father. "But, no, WAIT! Don't 'OI' me, I'll 'OI' you! What's this about you not being surprised there's magic?"

"This is what happens when you take short-cuts." Rory sniped back before taking a calming breath of air. He rubbed at his forehead. "I was waiting around Britain for 2,000 bloody years. Trust me, the Pandorica being stolen by a Welsh Green Dragon and being hit on by Albus Dumbledore weren't nearly the strangest things that happened."

There was a pregnant pause.

Amy ruptured the silence by falling into a giggling fit. At the look on the Doctor's face, Rory couldn't help but full-heartedly agree with his wife.

John stared from one of them to the next, hot irritation and bafflement mounting.

"Seriously though." Amy at last wiped away tears of mirth. Sending a disarmingly cheery smile at the fidgeting doctor, the other men listened with dawning dread. "How do wizards feel about polygamy, and how can I make a horcrux? The two aren't necessarily unrelated…"

Rory took this as his cue to return to the relative safety of his book, deciding to remind everyone of the Sherlock Holmes/Madame Vastra paradox when it seemed like violence was imminent.

* * *

_2:45 am, 30 June, 2007_

_Saint-Germain-des-Prés, Paris_

In a dark bedroom a world, an eternity, or an universe away, invisible monsters crawled over Harry Potter. His breath hitched with unsteady gasps, fingers grasping an already knotted blanket.

"…no…no more…_please_…"

* * *

_The broken trees rose around him like so many spiders. Shadowed figures stared between each, but he couldn't focus when his scar was burning like fire. Though for once, it wasn't his head that ached. His hands instead clutched his heaving chest, falling to the twig-scattered ground as air rushed from his lungs. Piercing flame racketed from the jagged scar over his heart; through dulling senses, he could just feel the organ skipping beats._

_One shadow stepped into the clearing with a hiss of amused laughter; the panting man's chin was jerked upward to a smirking face. The image blurred before him. Of Anderson, Lestrange, Riddle, Moriarty…in that instant, it was everyone and nobody. "Yo—you—"_

_"Me." The soft voice said in a mockery of concern. His head was pulled farther up, too weak to resist or do anything more than whimper at the new onslaught of pain. "It hurts, doesn't it? This burning inside of you. Can you hear the drums, hero?"_

* * *

"HARRY! Love, it's not real. Wake up! You're safe, we're all safe. Can you hear me? _WAKE UP! PLEASE!_"

Harry never noticed his tight grip being wrenched from the blankets, or a warm and comforting figure urgently hugging him.

* * *

_His heart thudded and the scene shifted._

_He was back in the Department of Mysteries. The burning scar switched, and it felt as though his forehead would split open. Or maybe it was his worst memories escaping, overwhelming him inch by inch by clawing inch. The hot, sticky taste of copper coated his mouth, trickling thickly down his tongue and choking throat. Coldness sunk in from all sides, more brutal than any dementor._

_There was the figure again, smirking. Hissing. Laughing as its neck split open and the human suit fell to the floor. The serpent stayed poised in the air; watching him curiously, like a child playing hide-and-seek. Its tongue splayed out, one sharp enough to be a sword. "Adiosss, amigo."_

_—his memories flickered by at lightning speed, but beyond reach. No mistake could be corrected, no lives could be saved, it was all being stolen, all dropping from the lightning-struck tower, and everyone he loved was going to cease to exist. Ever exist. Evereverever, because he'd been too slow and too stupid—_

_Ginny was lying beneath him, pale and unmoving. Had they leapt? Been pushed? Hit by the killing curse? He could glimpse her porcelain face, barely-there pulse, hair so crimson that he couldn't tell if she was on fire or not. He almost hoped she was, rather than being this cold._

* * *

"_…no more…"_

"WAKE UP!"

A scream and shake made Harry properly open his eyes. The pain faded, the touch of haunting memories dimmed, and the Veil and Astronomy Tower glimmered to dust as a blurry bedroom came into existence. He froze before relaxing, recognising who had woken him. "'m sorry."

"Don't be." Ginny sunk down once again, concern palpable as she curled next to her husband.

Harry realised he was shaking (with a faint unreality, as though this was a scene from someone else's life). The shivers slowly became less discernible, but he still held onto her like she was the sole boundary between him and scattering demons. Whether he was clutching at skin, a red brasserie, or a soft blanket, he didn't notice or care. What mattered was that the nightmare was trickling away, though blurred images and the taste of blood remained. He wondered if he'd bitten the inside of his mouth. He found he didn't care much.

Exhaling harshly, Harry then breathed in her scent, trying to calm his panic. For a moment, he knew with a concrete certainty that she would smell flowery. But in the next inhale, he remembered he hadn't seen a bottle of her herbal shampoo for years. There was a citrus smell now, as it had been for ages. He wasn't sure why he'd thought otherwise, or why he was still thinking about this. But maybe he was grappling at distractions while tossing traumas into a hidden little space in his mind…or maybe he was over-thinking things. Again.

The shivers were weakening. To any but the two of them, the shaking would have seemed nonexistent. Still, the embrace on either side had yet to lessen. Ginny, in a small voice, broke the fragile silence. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"It wasn't anything." Harry prefaced, as though either would believe this. He felt her hold tighten and knew his denial had been useless. "I'm fine." He tried to wave the nightmare away. "It was only…only scenes splayed together. Snippets of things. Snakes, Voldemort, Moriarty…of you and Jamie being threatened…jumping from the…never mind. Stupid, I know, but it seemed real."

She nestled against him, breath clear but rustled. "Love, we're safe. Safe."

"Yeah." He said stoically before pausing. "I wasn't too loud, was I?"

"No, no. Just murmurings." Ginny reassured him, voice growing ever gentler until it was nothing more than a vague, warm whisper. "Besides, I'm usually the one waking the kids."

"We have an even score on that." Harry's hold on her clenched. "They must think we're mad."

"Or that we've led 'exciting' lives." There was a still silence. She bit her lip, continuing hesitantly. "You were about to say 'tower', weren't you? Are you sure today is a good idea?"

"Nope." He ignored her first question, though was happy for the distraction. "You?"

"Merlin, no." Ginny rested against his cheek, her words muffled.

"Can't believe it." Harry leaned against her. "Ten years. Sounds so important…though most everyone's 'excited' about next year. As though the anniversary changes something." His words dwindled. "Gin? I know you despise him. So honestly, if you don't want to go…"

"Dumbledore was a manipulative bastard who blasted your childhood with _crucios_." Ginny said without pause, as this particular conversation had been rehatched numerously over the last two years. "I hate him more than anything, I can't believe I learned about him from Rowling's books, I'm still infuriated that you _didn't_ mention this while we were naming Al—"

Harry leaned slightly away, looking at her apprehensively. But she wasn't done.

"—and I can't believe I now prefer my baby's middle name! Dear Merlin." She continued her rant with a low groan. But she also snuggled closer to her still-nervous husband. "But you know what? I love you. So if you want to honour the Old Coot, none of that matters. I'll be right beside you."

"Thanks." He said softly, leaning in once again. "I'm not saying I disagree with you. But the man manipulatively saved my life countless times. Least I can do is go to the memorial service."

"I get it, I do." Ginny stretched. "How about this. We'll pay our respects, you'll fail to stop me from chucking dungbombs at his grave, and we'll make up by laughing about Hermione's and Minerva's reactions to finding out you weren't coming, let alone not speaking." She paused, happy to see his small smile at her words. "But are you…are you really sure about this? We could still let some people know we'll be in the audience. We both know this isn't about Dumbledore. Everyone knows that…and everyone else will have support."

"The memorial will be a circus." His chest tightened from something he couldn't pin down. "'Support' would be great, sure. But it'd be mixed with pitying looks."

"Harry…"

"I'm his 'protégé', remember? Combine that mess with my 'tragically heroic' figure and the lead-up to next year's memorial of the battle?" Harry's uncomfortableness increased with every word. "If even just Hermione knew we were there, her dozen hugs would draw the media's attention."

"True," Ginny admitted, "and if you add mum to the mix? Forget about anonymity."

"Yeah."

A comfortable silence descended. She shifted closer, causing one red strap to fall from her shoulder. He considered undoing the silken bra altogether, but dismissed this. Their embrace was better than anything else.

"If you want to let people know, it's fine." Harry brushed her cheek as she leaned into his touch. "It really is. I don't mind."

"Great, except I agree with you." Ginny breathed right back. "Though I can just hear mum if we showed up as ourselves…" Her voice became a mite louder in a fair impression of Molly Weasley. "'How dare you drag poor Harry off, and the kids! My grandkids! I hardly see them and, oh Jamie dear, how tall you've gotten. Albie, Lily, you look just like your parents; I just _hope_ you don't have their recklessness as well. All of you are skin and bones, what are you doing to yourselves!'"

Harry snorted at Ginny's apt lines and flickering grin. "I think Hermione might challenge her, what with us not exactly being in the Ministry's good books."

"They love us, really. But what if Minerva found out your real job?" She poked her husband, smiling bemusedly. "You'd likely make history—again—by being the first person expelled from Gryffindor. But then you'd do your big puppy dog eyes and soon enough be munching ginger newts as Minerva reverted back to 'caring grandmother' mode."

"Sounds about right." Harry grinned…except the light was quick to fade. Sleep lingered grimly in the shadows. "Hey, you know, I might get up."

Ginny tilted her head towards him, brow crinkling. "Get up? It's barely three."

"I know, I just…lots of papers and…"

"That's a horrible lie." She cupped his chin and lightly kissed him. "How bad was the nightmare, really?"

"Bad." Harry breathed out slowly. "What with the memorial and…well, I think those signs are getting to me. I'm sick of taking detours around every bookstore."

A small smile tugged on Ginny's lips. "Imagine how mad July will be."

"Christ." He groaned, as public relations would pale any other nightmare. "Either we're using some of that royalty to go to, to, _to Antarctica_ for the month, or I'm wearing a constant glamour. If one more person compares me to that kid…"

"It's flattering," she covered up a yawn, "and a tad disturbing. Mainly because I found out from the books that you had a 'monster in your chest'. There are treatments for that, you know. Certain…distractions." To demonstrate said possibilities, she tightened her embrace and caught his lips in hers.

Harry might have murmured "Harpy" or "I love you", but was too caught up in soft skin, citrus, and tiredness to tell. Or care. For they'd transitioned soon enough from a hug to an entanglement of arms and legs. Fiery locks and dark bed hair were unknotted by threading fingers, the last bits of clothing were flung away, and the blankets twisted around them.

Though exhaustion still lingered, Harry's worry was replaced with a pleasant blurriness amidst kissing her every freckle.

* * *

_7:50 am, 30 June, 2007_

_Saint-Germain-des-Prés, Paris_

Harry touched the side of his mouth with his tongue, wincing at the spark of pain. So he actually had tasted blood. Fantastic. He contemplated using a quick _episkey_, but with another jab it was clear the bite had only made a small cut. Annoying, sure, less than a moment…

He rolled his eyes, not believing he was even thinking about this.

Taking off his glasses, Harry turned on the tap and splashed water on himself to properly wake up, forgetting about using a healing spell. Maybe it was his muggle upbringing speaking, but he'd grown to think that using magic for every little non-problem took away some of its incredibleness. That, and he'd learned the hard way that using a spell rather than putting in the slightest of non-magical effort could sometimes be like using a sledgehammer in place of a spoon. Just the mention of '_Accio glasses_' still made him wince and Ron laugh uproariously.

Shaking off the water, Harry looked up through his wet fringe. His face stared back at him with sharp clarity, short-sightedness not obscuring anything at this short distance from the mirror. Tugging at a strand of hair, he mused he was in need of a cut. This was getting to fourth year lengths! But that was easily fixed. Less simple to cut away were the lines crossing his skin; more laugh lines than he'd expected, but more minute scars as well.

Standing close to the sink his own reflection was clear, but as he rubbed at and shifted his eyes towards the open door, his wife and bed and room was merely a blurred mass. He squinted: his horrendous eyesight remained wholly unchanged. Unsurprising, that. But stranger things had happened.

Grabbing his toothbrush, Harry vaguely wondered why magic couldn't correct short- or far-sightedness. Curing cancer and the common cold? No problem. But giving someone 20/20 vision? Absolutely out of the question. He scrubbed at his teeth, thoughts on this. Maybe it had something to do with the corneas, that they were too fragile? But muggles stuck bits of plastic on them all the time, not to mention shooting them with lasers.

He entertained himself for a moment imagining Albus Dumbledore fiddling with contacts or Arthur Weasley peering inquisitively at Laser Eye surgery with something akin to horror. Setting the toothbrush down he fiddled with his own glasses, a small smile gracing his lips. He'd stick with these, thanks. Familiarity aside, the frames had everything from anti-summoning charms to impenitrability spells on them. They weren't at the level of old Moody's eye, but that thing had been rather unsettling anyway.

Fitting his glasses in place, Harry turned without glancing again at his reflection. Leaning against the counter, he gazed into the bedroom and the suddenly far better view. Which was due to his clear vision, of course, but also because of the highly underdressed redhead bending away from him in scouring the dresser. A perky part of her anatomy was especially distracting. A small smile glimmered as thoughts swept away—

BANG!

"DA DA DA!" A miniature redhead swept into the room like crawling wildfire, hair messily bundled and precious toy Nundo clutched to her florescent pink nightgown.

Ginny shrieked and dived to the bed to cover herself, but Lily barely gave her mum a passing glance. She was absolutely concentrated on her quest and, in spotting her dad, the little girl gave a scream of enthusiasm and launched herself at his knees. "'ANCAKES 'ANCAKES 'ANCAKES!"

"What?" Harry's tired thoughts scrambled to catch up. His wife, now covered with a hurriedly wrapped duvet-dress, snorted.

"There's never fights for _my_ breakfasts." Ginny mumbled sleepily, returning to search for proper clothes. Lily continued babbling while locked onto her father. "Still, finding a man who can cook…"

"—Al' say 'ancakes arr 'orin', but he' 'ird!" Lily furiously nodded, only loosening her grip when Harry pulled her up into his arms. "Jamie' worse an', an', an' it' not _'eally_ cer'al, right? RIGHT? _Ooo say I pick!_"

"Course, Lily-bily. It's your turn today." Harry assured her. The little girl made a face at the nickname, though, as the words dawned, she beamed in delight.

"'ANCAKES 'ANCAKES 'ANCAKES!" Lily squealed, toy Nundo zooming around as her father carefully kept a hold of her wiggling form.

* * *

_9:20 am, 30 June, 2007_

_Saint-Germain-des-Prés, Paris_

James Sirius Potter had always known his family was insane. He wasn't being rude, or sarcastic like Al: it was fact. Fact as much as the moon was made of cheese and 'genderised nouns' were stupid. Though, to be fair, he wasn't entirely sure about the moon thing. His dad had told him—and his dad _had fought dragons_—but he'd also said to listen to Madame Pamplemousse, to not make fun of her name, and that words could be boys and girls…which made no sense. Nope. None at all. So dad and Grapefruit (Pamplemousse, whatever) couldn't be trusted.

His mum had laughed when Jamie had informed her of the betrayal, which meant she knew he was right. But she still wouldn't let him skip school so she wasn't totally awesome. Which proved that adults were stupid! Al agreed, so there. Lily had started blabbering about nundos when asked, but he was pretty sure she'd been dropped on her head so it was okay. Or maybe girls were always mental. That's what Uncle Ron said, and Uncle George said yeah so it must be true.

Which got back to the point: if you were going to give nouns genders, just make them all boys. There! No more dumb homework. No, wait a mo. That hadn't been Jamie's point.

He frowned, pausing half-way down the stairs. Then the shrieks from the kitchen met his ears and he grinned as triumphant recollection hit. His family was insane! There it was.

Jamie trampled down the remaining steps, pouncing off the last one with a lion's roar. Ending the jump in the doorway, he froze with extended 'claw-like' arms, waiting for impressed applause. But not an inch of the chaos changed, and the little boy scolded and slouched into the kitchen filled with numerous people who had failed to acclaim his suburb performance. He then swerved out of the way of Gladstone, their rampaging dog, and stormily took a seat.

'Taking a seat' wasn't as easy as it was made out to be, pets included. For this endeavour involved hopping over a puddle of maple syrup, catching and tossing back various stuffed animals to Lily, making a detour around Al's bodiless head (who was happily chasing a hyper Gladstone), poking at a chameleon Patronus mum was listening to, and giddily (though angrily-giddily, because life, the universe and everything was still horrifically unfair) took some pancakes while thanking his dad in-between chews.

Except not, because Jamie most definitely did not speak with his mouth full. At least, not too obviously. This was mainly due to his mum having lectures for _everything_. The only exception was Quidditch, but that went without saying—anything was fair game on that front, except that it was outright criminal for a toddler to not be taught how to fly. But Jamie didn't get the dumb rules about stupid school or why he couldn't talk while eating! Adults just didn't understand how uncool they were. They were also extremely oblivious.

"Was that a dragon or lion?" Jamie's dad broke in on his musings with a grin, setting another steaming plate in the centre of the table. Suddenly, the entire day seemed so much better. Okay, so his dad was kind of horrible at recognising lions, but Jamie was willing to overlook that. In fact, the little boy generously admitted that maybe his earlier thoughts had been harsh. His family wasn't insane. Not really. After all, he was sure everyone's peaceful mornings were like this.

"NUNDO!" Lily pounded her small fists against the plastic table, smile oddly sharp for a one and a half year old.

Harry blinked, making a shrugging gesture when Ginny turned at the scream. "…what is it with you three and creatures?"

Which was when Jamie shouted as his breakfast vanished.

In short time the food was back in place, the Invisibility Cloak had been confiscated from 'play time', and Al was having to endure one of their dad's lectures about responsibility (which was so much worst than their mum's, though luckily far less frequent). But Jamie wouldn't stop glaring at his brother for ages after. Ages and ages…almost ten minutes! Which he felt was rather impressive, thank you very much.

Though when they'd all settled down—with both the Patronus and Gladstone having disappeared somewhere—and everyone properly sitting for breakfast, Jamie's grudge was put on hold when his brother tapped him.

"What?" The older boy whispered in annoyance, still glaring at his unrepentant sibling.

Al didn't seem perturbed by this continuing rage. Instead he idly played with some fruit while glancing across the table at their conversing parents. "Do they, I dunno, seem tired?"

Jamie looked quickly before turning back with an air of unconcernedness. "They're _grown-ups_. They do grown-up things."

"Yeah, I know." But Al looked less than certain.

Jamie felt his annoyance spiral away as the maturity of their two year age difference seeped in. He smiled reassuringly and big brotherly. "So they're thinking about traveling. But no school today, and we'll see Teddy!"

Al brightened at that.

"Plus," Jamie lowered his voice even more, having noticed Lily perk up in mentioning their godbrother, "the coolest thing? Heard them talking. Guess where we're going?"

"Um, Aunt Andy's?" Al's scrunched up his face in thought. "The Burrow? Grimmy Place? Baker—"

"Nope!" His older brother exclaimed before quieting again. The next word was uttered with excitement. "_Hogwarts_."

"Hoggy!" Lily muffily repeated, the stuffed animal firmly trapped in her teeth. "HOGGY HOGGY HOGGY!"

This last was what got the adults' attention and, exchanging a sigh, the boys watched as their parents tried to get their daughter to stop shouting and chewing her nundo. Again.

* * *

_30 June, 2007_

_London, England_

'Hello' — JK _5:55 pm_

'Texting?'—MH _5:56 pm_

'Texting is easier than a call. How is M?'—JK _5:58 pm_

'She is well. Nothing has changed from when you saw us 10 mins ago, which is what I meant by 'texting'. Mary says for u to do something particularly vulgar for distracting me. nvrmind her, is on edge from talkin down Pakistani coup'—MH _6:01 pm_

'Tsk, tsk. Delegating.'—JK _6:03 pm_

'Ms perfectly capable & i did the same to you. Again, y ru textin?' —MH _6:05 pm_

'To chat. Your grammar is falling.'—JK _6:07 pm_

'Am typing 5 diff convers, including UN & mad dictator. We just talked'—MH _6:10 pm_

'I like to chat.'—JK _6:11 pm_

'Shouldnt u be on red carpet?'—MH _6:15 pm_

'Not at the moment.'—JK _6:21 pm_

'Busy. no time for u bein bored'—MH _6:30 pm_

'You always have time for that. But no, wait ten minutes.'—JK _6:42 pm_

'Excuse me?'—MH _6:43 pm_

'The crisis is over. Grammar is once again impeccable. What was it you wished to speak of?'—MH _6:46 pm_

'Joanne, Mary apologises.'—MH _6:48 pm_

'Joanne? She agrees to send a fruit basket; will not be poisoned.'—MH _6:51 pm_

'Jo, this is not funny'—MH _6:53 pm_

'Anthea, it has been fifteen minutes. The poison was a joke.'—MH _6:57 pm_

'You aren't answering any device. Have cancelled basket.'—MH _7:00 pm_

'Anthea, it's highly rude to make one concerned. Am moments from notifying MI5.'—MH _7:05 pm_

'Sorry, rotten at maths. Get every auror to Hogwarts NOW! Meet you at Downing St'—JK _7:07 pm_

* * *

**A/N:** Why are the Potters living in Paris? Because it's close but far enough away from Britain to use as a plot device. On that note, Jamie was complaining about learning French and how in France nouns are given genders. Madam Pamplemousse (meaning 'grapefruit' in French; inside joke there, take no notice) is his teacher. As for why Lily has a pet nundo? For anyone familiar with "A Series of Unfortunate Events", I—weirdly enough—picture Lily as very Sunny Baudelaire-ish.

As for Harry and Ginny? Don't tell me they wouldn't still be scarred. They might have a wonderful family, but because of their past they'd be terrified at losing this love and happiness. Maybe this is why I think they'd be insanely cute as parents. Harry would be that incredible dad who keeps accidentally embarrassing his kids ("Dddaaaddd, stop it!" "Stop what Jamie?" "The girls in my class are icky and love you. Gross! Stop being so—_you_ around other people!"). Ginny would laugh _forever_ and ensure her place as coolest parent by teaching everyone Quidditch. Harry would accept this challenge and introduce the kids to Viktor Krum and other assorted celebrities. Which would cause Ginny to buy them Firebolts and get Charlie to bring tame dragons to use as the other team. Which Harry would answer by, idk, finding Atlantis and baking yummy biscuits. Or some other combination of utterly impossible and adorkable stunts!

There's no way James, Albus and Lily wouldn't have the most totally awesome childhoods possible.

Still, it's a shame the Potters' lives never remain peaceful for long.


	3. IMPORTANT NOTE!

Hi guys!

So you know, I've decided that instead of posting this story, I'm GOING BACK to 'A Scandal In Baker Street' and writing up THIS as Book 2 THERE.

To my incredible viewers and reviewers, thank you sososo much for your continued support. I'm incredibly sorry some things will be lost but want to dearly thank tcl7189, TheSilentDarkAngel, LM1991, Veyrona, SoulWeaver Balinia, WitchRavenFox, Kyer, capctr, and titan616 for their lovely comments! I'll keep this story up for a bit, but I've realised that consolidating both fanfics into one will make far more sense in the long-run. I'm incredibly sorry for any confusion, and hope that you'll continue to enjoy this story.

The additional three chapters will be posted to 'A Scandal In Baker Street' soon, and after those are done new updates should come in (hopefully) a timely fashion.

Thank you so much for your patience,

AC


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